Mack Daddy(12)

“I guess.”

He sat down on one of the kitchen chairs and kicked his feet up on another. “Well, I’m allergic to bullshit. There’s no such thing as this allergy you think you have. You’re just shy, maybe a little insecure. It’s as simple as that. There’s only one cure for that shit and that’s to say ‘f*ck it all’ and stop caring about what other people think. Give zero f*cks. Have no f*cks left to give. Fuck it all until there’s nothing left to f*ck.” He stopped himself, lifting his index finger and chuckled. “That last part didn’t sound right.”

“I understand what you meant. It’s just easier said than done.”

“Well, you know we can’t live together if you get hives every time I’m around.”

“I’ll get used to you. I know you think I’m a weirdo.”

“Who said that?”

“It’s obvious what you’re thinking.”

“I would be willing to bet you have no clue what I’m actually thinking right now. Want to know the truth?”

“What?”

“It’s refreshing to meet someone not so full of themself. I’m surrounded by people all day long who couldn’t care less what other people think of them. I’m one of those people as well. So, the other extreme…we’re not any better. But your scenario is a f*ck of a lot more stressful on a daily basis.”

“You got that right. I’d give anything to not care what people think.”

He squinted his eyes and seemed to be examining my face. “I’ll make a deal with you, Frankie.”

What did he just call me?

“Frankie?”

“Yes. You look nothing like a Francesca. You look like a Frankie to me.”

“What were you going to say?”

“I’ll make a deal with you. I’m an *, right?”

“Okay…”

“You’re a scaredy cat—a *.”

“I’m a *…”

“I’ll rub some of my * off on you if you rub some of your * off on me.”

My eyes widened. “You’ll rub your * on me?”

“Not literally. You’ve had enough of my actual private parts to last a year.”

I smiled, stifling a laugh.

“Oh, shit. Is that a smile?” he asked.

“Maybe.”

“Okay. Let me clarify. What I mean is...if I catch you acting like a nervous spaz, I’ll call you out on it, remind you that it’s not necessary. If you catch me acting like a dick—kind of like when I yelled at you last night after you accidentally tried to use my penis as a nightstick—you call me out on it. Can you do that?”

“I think so.”

“Alright. And in the meantime, we just try to co-exist without accidentally touching each other’s genitals, damaging household items, or breaking out into hives.”

“I can’t help the hives. They’re a natural reaction to nerves.”

“But you can help the nerves by learning to not give a shit.”

“Okay. I’ll try.”

He chuckled. “I don’t believe you.”

“You can’t just undo years of being a certain way overnight.”

“That’s true, I guess.” He looked into my eyes, and I suddenly became uncomfortable again. “Why the glasses?”

“Because I told you, I’m nearly blind.”

“Yeah, but why don’t you get Lasik surgery?”

“I thought about that, but I’m scared they’ll screw up, and I’ll go blind.”

“Aren’t you already practically blind? I’d say it’s worth the risk. Not that there’s anything wrong with your glasses, but I get the impression you like to hide behind them. Am I right?”

Even though I’d never really thought of that before, there was something to it. I did always feel a sense of comfort with my glasses on. If the eyes were a window into someone’s soul, then glasses were like a mini-shield.

I looked at the clock. “Shit!”

“What?”

“I missed my ten-thirty class. By the time I get there now, it’ll be half over.”

“So, skip class. I do it all the time.”

“I have no choice now.” I sighed. A moment of silence ensued until I attempted to find out more about him. “Moses said you’re a poli-sci major?”

“Yeah. Grad school. It’s the only thing my father would fund.”

“Why?”

“My dad is Michael Morrison, the senator from Virginia. He’s been grooming me for years to follow in his footsteps.”

“Do you plan to?”

“Between you and me? He thinks I am, but the truth is that I don’t know what the f*ck I’m doing. I felt like I needed to get away from home for a while, so I took the opportunity he gave me once I got into the Boston College program.” He pulled out a seat and nudged his head for me to sit in it. “What’s your major?”

“Elementary education.”

He raised his brow. “Education?”

“Yes. Why do you say it like that?”

“You’re allergic to people, and you’re studying to go into a field where you’ll be in front of a bunch of snotty-nosed kids all day?”